The little maples by the lake are yellow. Glowing summer, seeping light into gray waters. Vibrating against dark ground and trunk.

We have come indoors to understand their bodies through our own flesh. To find the light in our fingertips as we touch skin and water and wool. The way that summer bleeds into butternut squash and apples and freckles.
We have walked to the shore to see the water weeds bank by the dock. To feel the wind sweeping up the yellow in her arms, bearing it to safe soils. We plunge into dark waters and soft bodies.

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